“Truce?” I turn to my sister first, but she’s already turned on me. “I’m out of ammo,” I’m barely able to squeal before she aims and fires. The bullet whizzes past me, hitting our dad in the shoulder.
“Who was that?” he demands. I gesture at my uncle. Though his weapon had been aimed at my mom, he catches our conversation and turns his sights. I pull a pillow in front of my face just in time to catch his bullet. Snatching up the abandoned ammo, I load my Nerf gun and fire at another unsuspecting family member.
Seconds ago, we had begun our Christmas celebration by rifling through hand-sewn stockings, each labeled with a relative’s name. Pieces of chocolate, hot cocoa, and Legos were pushed to the side in search of the real prize: a Dollar Tree Nerf gun.
Every year, someone fires the first shot before any grandchild can even think about unwrapping a present. The living room devolves into a battleground, and the war ends with plastic bullets scattered beneath my grandparents’ couches.
Though the combat tradition began with grandkids demanding entertainment, the stockings have existed long before our time. The first, with “Mom” and “Dad” sprawled in red print across the brims, used to hang in places of honor above the mantle. With each addition to the family, my grandma handmade a new stocking until the fireplace became too small to hold them all. Each Christmas, I search throughout the house until I find my name hanging over a door frame.
Since the last baby, my grandma’s hands have become less steady with a needle and thread. When my cousin got married, my mom took over stocking responsibilities for my new cousin-in-law. She showed me the progress over Thanksgiving. “I want her to feel welcome,” my mom said.
That same Thanksgiving, I began rereading the first chapters of Luke. I wondered how Mary might have welcomed the newest member of her family. Did her parents have traditions to share with the baby, or were rituals pushed aside by the unexpected pregnancy?
Surely Mary’s birth plan hadn’t included bleating sheep and the stench of manure. I doubt she ever envisioned the absence of her mother at the baby’s arrival. Had she hoped that, even if Nazareth neighbors rejected her, her sister would still be there to wipe sweat from her forehead? Did she feel a slight twinge of regret when, instead of her aunts coming to see the child, shepherds crowded the stable?
Even in upended plans and missed traditions, Mary could cling to the hope of the salvation her son would bring. Luke describes the words spoken over her when she and Joseph brought the newborn Jesus to Jerusalem. Simeon, a man who Scripture describes as “waiting for the consolation of Israel,” held the child and cried, “Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel” (Luke 2:25, 29-32 ESV).
God’s sovereign design placed his Son not just in a manger, but on Golgotha. Because Christ stepped into our chaos, born in a stable to a girl away from home, suffered the cross, and rose in triumphant resurrection, we can be numbered among his brothers and sisters. Like my mom crafting a new stocking by hand, God welcomes us by name into his family.
What are some of your favorite Christmas traditions? Let me know in the comments below.
As a lifelong reader, Aubrey Winstead is passionate about Christian literature for young people. She has continued cultivating her love of reading and writing at North Greenville University, where she is in her senior year of pursuing an English major with a double minor in Honors and Intercultural Studies. Aubrey served the Write2Ignite team as their Fall 2025 NGU intern.
Beautiful and thoughtful, Aubrey!
Our family enjoyed family devotions, singing Happy Birthday to Jesus, and a sausage quiche for breakfast on Christmas morning. Opening presents in-between it all.
Now that my youngest daughter lives all the way across the country from us and doesn’t come home until January, we enjoy having dinner with my son’s family.
Merry Christmas!